Did It Hurt When You Fell?
by Atakiri Mizuyuki
Summary: He had heard that some people, when describing someone they found remarkable, compared them to angels. Anna Irving was better than that. [KratosXAnna]
1. Chapter 1

He had heard that some people, when describing someone they found remarkable, compared them to angels. "She was beautiful as an angel", "he was kind as an angel", "She had the mercy of an angel". Well, Kratos knew many angels, and comparing the woman in front of him to one of them seemed a very poor choice.

"Hold out your arm," he ordered, his voice cold. The woman raised her arm, and he took it and considered it. There was no discoloration on her skin, which had to be a sign of something. He glanced around her at the vials aligned on the wall, and wondered for a moment if her dosage was correct.

He turned her arm over and put his fingers against her wrist, checking for an even pulse.

"What's your name?" she asked. She glanced up at him-he was nearly half a foot taller than her-with unaccusing and curious eyes. She hadn't spoken to him before-normally if he was in the room he was simply observing-but he had heard her talk to others on several occasions. That was what had first grabbed his attention, why he considered her "remarkable". The things they were doing to her were... well, euphemisms were useless. It was horrible. But she accepted it with a kind of grace and dignity, a beam set in the water that refuses to bow or bend. She hadn't changed, even for everything they had done to her. It seemed as if, if they were to suddenly let her go, she would wish them a good day and go on her way as if nothing had ever happened.

She was truly a remarkable person.

"... Kratos," he answered, after a pause. The quiet smile on her face, unable to escape the tarnish of her exhaustion, widened a touch.

" 'Kratos'. It has a nice ring to it. Like something from the old stories."

"Hmm," he responded, because he didn't really feel like thinking about the fact that he _was_ from the old stories. He realized he'd been taking her pulse for a long time and let her have her arm back.

He was about to ask her to turn around and push her hair away from her neck-he had to check the injection site near the top of her spine-when she spoke again.

"Do you have a last name?" He hesitated for a moment again, taken aback.

"Turn around and hold your hair up," he said instead. She did as she was instructed, but it was with a faint laugh, like the popping of a bubble.

"A strange last name," she said. She was joking? At a time like this? Remarkable.

"Aurion," he answered, pushing the hem of her shirt down a touch so he could see the vertebrae that rose from her back and into her neck. There was very slight discoloration around the injection site, but it was faint, and much less than was exhibited in their usual subjects. She really was coming along as well as had been reported.

"That's pretty." They lapsed into silence. She seemed fine with it, but he found himself somewhat uncomfortable. How long had it been since he'd spoke to someone who wasn't Mithos, or to an underling he was giving orders to?

"... What is your name?" he asked. He had read it in her report at some point, and he knew her subject number, but he couldn't remember what her name actually was. And it was the only thing he could think of to ease the awkward silence.

"Anna. Anna Irving," she responded, and though she was turned around, he could hear the small smile in her voice.

"Very well, you can turn around, Anna-Anna-Irving," he said. She had started to turn, but she gave a little jump and a laugh when he said her name.

"You angels do have a sense of humor!"

It struck Kratos like a blow to the chest, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. He _was_ an angel, one of the four grand Seraphim of Cruxis, sent here to observe Kvar's project with the angelus project and to report back to his Lord Yggdrasil. He had been for four thousand years. But it still stung. For a moment-one brief, warm moment when he had let his guard down-he had been able to speak to someone as if he was just a person again, just a plain human working for the Tethe'allan military, before Mithos, before Martel, before Yuan and the Kharlan Tree withering and the rending of the worlds. Before all of it. He had been able to speak to someone else as if he was _alive_.

The Angelus woman-Anna, Anna Irving-knew she had said something wrong. The brief warmth, delicate as a candle flame, had flickered out, and she stared at the ground with her hands clasped together, quiet and obedient and everything she needed to be to survive. To be able to keep on going day by day, so that when she could, she could be herself again. When had he stopped counting days?

Kratos turned from her without a word and approached the door into the examination cell. He knocked twice at it, and it slid open.

"I'm done with my examination. Take her back to her cell. I'll report to Lord Yggdrasil personally," he said. The Desian bowed and held the door open further so he could leave.

Before crossing the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder for a moment, back at Anna. She had lifted her head again and was watching him, her eyes curious and tired and sad-sad for herself, and... just a touch... for him?

He walked out of the Desian base, released his wings, and took to the sky faster than was necessary. The feeling of that _sympathy_ burned cold under his skin. She felt sorrow for _him? _For him, Kratos Aurion, Angel and high Seraphim of Cruxis, Companion of the Hero of the Kharlan War?

He knew many angels, and he knew many things about them. Some of what people said about them could be true. Certainly Martel, though she hadn't lived to see her ascension, was beautiful, kind, and merciful. But for the most part, angels were just like the humans, or elves, or half-elves they used to be-weak, and corrupted, and scared.

Angels were many things. Anna Irving was greater than all of it.


	2. Chapter 2

"How have you been feeling?" Kratos asked. Anna shifted on her chair and adjusted her skirt.

"Well enough. I..." She hesitated, but after a moment she relented. "I've been feeling a bit weaker than usual. It's harder to get up in the mornings. Physically and... emotionally..." She trailed off, and Kratos didn't make her keep speaking. He knew a bit how she worked, now. He'd been seeing her consistently for the last two months. Or had it been three? He'd stopped keeping track of time centuries ago, but things like months and weeks and days were starting to matter again.

One of the Desians had mentioned, in passing, that Anna seemed to respond to questioning better when Kratos was the one speaking to her, and since then Kratos was the only one allowed to interact with her, in order to assure the best possible result from the very sensitive Angelus project, as per Lord Yggdrasil's orders.

Lord Yggdrasil was undoubtedly aware by now about "his" orders, but if he minded, he'd made no comment of it.

Kratos made a few marks on the paper in front of him. When he looked up, Anna was leaning forward, staring at him intently. He felt uncomfortable being subjected to her gaze like that, but it wasn't unbearable. She wasn't looking for weaknesses. Only... answers.

"Can I ask how old you are?" she said. He frowned and tapped the tip of his pen against the paper.

"In what way do you mean?"

"Angels don't age, right? How old were you before you stopped aging?" Kratos was willing to answer her right away, but he actually needed a moment to remember. He cleared his throat to cover the hesitation.

"Twenty-eight." It sounded ridiculous when he said it. Twenty-eight. He had felt so old, even then, like he had lived through an eternity and had learned everything there was to learn. And now he realized he had been hardly even a child. It was impossible to think.

Anna was smiling, and it was those smiles that he had started to move through the days for. It had been years since he had seen someone smile. The cruel smirks and sadistic grins he had glimpsed on some of the Grand Cardinals didn't count for anything.

"I'm twenty-four," she responded, in their typical game of question-and-answer. Typical? They had a "typical" game? What was happening? What was he _letting_ happen?

But, god, she was so young.

"I need to see your wrist again," he said, and for a moment his voice caught, but it was so small and subtle a thing he didn't imagine she'd caught it. She held her arm out with a kind of willingness like she had volunteered for this. Her skin felt strange under his fingers, like it was something he shouldn't touch.

A pulse of dread rattled through his abdomen and right into his heart. The skin looked fine, but her veins were just a little too blue. A little too dark, a little too visible.

The project really was reaching its completion, then-even if it would most likely end with Anna's death.

"Should I... ask...?" He glanced up and realized he'd made her anxious. He rarely showed his emotions-on the very rare occasions he felt them-on his face, but he must have shown _something_ to make her so worried.

For a moment, Kratos didn't know what to say. Because... he didn't want to tell her, and he didn't imagine she would actually want to know.

"We might be able to extract the exsphere soon," he said. That was... close enough to the truth, and not quite so terrible. After all, she might survive the exsphere being removed. He wasn't sure she would last much longer if it stayed within her.

Anna, though, looked pale. It was the first time he had seen her so... vulnerable. She was usually so strong, so bright, even for everything. And now...

"Don't people usually die from that?" she asked. Even her voice was vulnerable.

He felt something that he hadn't for a very, very long time. For centuries.

Fear.

"No," he assured her, a touch too quickly. He silently chastised himself for that. "It is... a common side effect. But it is not always the result. And we'll work hard to keep you alive. You may prove vital to the project yourself, beyond simply the exsphere," he added. It sounded like a hasty and foolish sort of thing to add, but Anna hadn't noticed. She just nodded.

"I'll wish you the best of luck, then," she said, and she closed her eyes and smiled. It was small, and faint, and she was trying too hard. But it was a smile. A smile for her murderers.

"... Thank you," he said, and for a moment, she looked confused-but not nearly as much as he felt. What was he thanking her for?

Before he would have to face the question he stood up and walked over to the examination room's door. He rapped his knuckles against it and it slid open.

"Lord Kratos-" the Desian said, his voice concerned. Kratos cut him off sharply.

"Schedule the exsphere extraction process within the next three days," he ordered. He pushed past the Desian and into the hall.

"B-but Lord Kratos-!" the Desian continued. He started to follow Kratos, but let out a quick _tch_, pressed the button that closed the automatic door, than chased after him. "Lord Kratos, her exsphere isn't scheduled for completion for another two weeks! If we cut the experiment short early-"

Kratos rounded on him, and in response to his aggression his wings manifested behind him. They splashed the narrow, metallic corridor with icy light. The Desian recoiled.

"I'm the head of this project," Kratos said, his voice grave. The Desian stared at him in fear. "I say what steps will be taken, in what order, and what times. We have what we need-the exsphere might not be at its full potential, but at least we'll have it, instead of losing it like all of Kvar's failed attempts." He had to keep himself from spitting the words. He shouldn't have been this angry. At least, he shouldn't have _acted_ this angry. But he couldn't help it, not now, and at least it was helping him get his point across. Although, what point it was making, he was too concerned about to think on. "The extraction process takes place in three days-is that clear?!"

"Yes, Lord Kratos, sir!" the Desian cried. He turned on his heel and bolted, and Kratos turned around himself, his wings gone but his hands balled into fists. He could feel blood sliding from his palms.

He strode off before he could start bleeding on the sheet-metal floor.


End file.
